The Dual Voices of Recklessness and Reason
by Magnor
Summary: Ratchet is, as far as he knows, the last Lombax in existance. Not only that, but he's stuck on a backwater dustbowl of a planet fixing ships he can't fly because he doesn't have a stupid Robotic Ignition System to turn them on. That is, until one quite literally falls out of the sky and he discovers he's good for a lot more than simply turning wrenches.
1. Chapter 1

_**R**_

Ratchet looked up at the clear night sky. It was filled to the brim with stars, far too many to count in a single lifetime. One of the few perks of living in the middle of nowhere, he mused. More civilised worlds had far too much light pollution for the night to display such splendour, or so he had heard anyways. He had never been off-world to verify that for himself.

Unusually, it was completely silent. This would not have been a rare event for most inhabitants of the Kyzil Plateau, but then again, most inhabitants of the Kyzil Plateau didn't share a Lombax's acute hearing. There was almost always something for Ratchet's large ears to pick up, be it the sound of distant construction or a lone fly buzzing nearby, but for the moment, there was nothing.

For most, this would be a perfect moment, a time to breathe a sigh of relief and just enjoy being alive to witness such beauty and tranquillity. But not for Ratchet. There was a reason his thoughts kept returning to the phrase "for most". He had gotten pretty good at not thinking about that reason. He had to, really. But this stillness, this feeling of being completely isolated from the rest of the world, hearing only his own breath, was too bitter a reminder. That, combined with the events of the day, sent him down a familiar train of thought he had naively hoped to be behind him.

Ratchet was the last Lombax in the galaxy. Or that was what everyone told him, anyways.

Even in his earliest memories he'd known he was different, only later realising that that was why he didn't quite fit in with the other children at the orphanage. His huge ears and yellow fur aside, he was far too hyperactive and, as the caretakers worded it, reckless, to be a good playmate for the more careful and withdrawn Solanians. It didn't help that he frequently got in trouble, especially in his 'disassemble and tinker with anything and everything within reach' phase. He hadn't really minded that overmuch in those days though, and thanks to the infinite patience of the orphanage workers had a mostly happy childhood.

One day however, right around the time he started reading, he was pulled to the matron's office and told the truth. Told, by the kind old woman in the gentlest way possible, that he was the only known Lombax in existence, a species hailing from the Polaris galaxy commonly believed to be extinct. She had also given him the three objects that had been left with him on the orphanage doorstep: a note written in a script that no-one seemed able to decipher, a thick armband made of a greyish alloy inset with a subtly glowing light green disc that had mistakenly been assumed to be jewellery, and an oversized wrench for which he had been named.

He hadn't been able to fully digest what this meant, being only a kid, so it didn't bother him for a long time. There was even a period where he took pride in being a rare specimen of a fallen and, as he liked to assume, great, race, and secretly consoled himself with the interpretation that this made him better than his peers and was the true reason why they distanced themselves from and avoided him. It didn't help that in he _was_ inherently better at some things than the average Solanian, chief among them the agility and balance his small build allowed him, and a cleverness of a sort that excelled at getting him into trouble, and an ability to think under pressure that was almost as good at getting him out of it. This is to say nothing of his seemingly innate affinity for machinery and the tinkering therewith.

It was only in adolescence that the seed of loneliness was planted, and as much as he denied and suppressed it and attempted to banish it with reason, it kept growing. It didn't help that the dating pool, eagerly dived into by all his friends (a term he was forced to use loosely), seemed barren to his alien preferences. There was a Cazar at school whom he found moderately attractive, however, though it was mostly due to the fact that she was the only one around who had fur and a tail like him, and so he eagerly set out to get a piece of the action. But his unskilled advances proved futile, thanks to him not having the faintest idea of how to go about courting someone. It also didn't help that he was near the bottom of the societal ladder thanks to him being an odd-looking orphan with a reputation for causing trouble. His advances became steadily bolder with each attempt, until, in a desperate and frustrated move made in the heat of the moment that forever after made him cringe in regret, he played the 'last of my kind' card, which only netted him shocked pity and not the amazement he had hoped for.

This rejection, which in hindsight probably had more to do with his fumbling awkwardness than anything else, finally made what the matron had said years ago sink in for Ratchet. It cemented the idea that he really was alone in the universe, destined for a life of solitude. He fell into a depression, and was assigned a therapist who seemed able to do little more than nod her head sadly, better equipped to deal with pettier problems than being the last of one's race. She did help though, and in a few months the emptiness inside him had been reduced to a dull ache in the back of his mind. Not gone, but ignorable.

Unfortunately, it was not wholly contained, and tended to flare up every once in a while, especially when he was feeling sad or frustrated, and tonight was no exception

He knew it was no use dwelling on it. It was a simple fact, one he couldn't do anything about, so why worry? It was too bad his emotions weren't so logical. It didn't help that he was stranded on this desolate rock with nothing good to distract him with. Well, nothing except working on ships, but even that got dull after a while. The truth was he wanted to do more with his life than work as a mechanic on Veldin, a job for which he seemed destined. He wanted to travel the stars, be around more interesting company, maybe even find another Lombax, somehow.

It was then that Ratchet decided to cut off that train of thought. It was all well and good to have hopes and dreams, but wishing for the impossible was asking for disappointment. No, he needed to focus on the realistic goals: getting off of this planet and starting life anew.

He had actually made some headway on the former: for the last while he'd been hard at work on making his very own starship with which he could get out of here, a task far easier said than done. It wasn't anything fancy, of course, having been made of parts salvaged from other ships destined for the junkheap, but it would work. Hopefully. All it needed was a robotic ignition system to start it up and he'd be out of here.

That last bit was a big part of why he was up here. He'd been working on the ship for the last, what was it, two years now? Three? In any case, a long time, and for the last few weeks he'd laboured under the hope that the navigation computer he'd found was old enough not to demand a robotic ignition system to function. But it was not to be, and now he'd need to either save up to go buy one, a task which could take months at the very least, or be lucky enough to find a discarded one and get it working again. He really didn't get why Gadgetron mandated that a robot needed to be present in the cockpit to be able to start a ship's engine. Well, alright, he understood that it was to keep reckless people from flying without an artificial voice of reason to keep them from doing anything stupid, and that he fit squarely into the demographic for which the system was designed, but still! The tinker part of him thought it was immensely cumbersome and idiotic, even accounting for personal bias. Why not just have an AI installed into the cockpit itself, instead of making you bring your own? It would not only solve everything the Robotic Ignition System set out to, but it would do so in a far more convenient way that also increased the ship's capabilities. And it would probably be safer to boot; what if you needed to evacuate or something and didn't have a robot on hand? Or were stuck on a backwater dustbowl with a very real desire to do something drastic if you kept on being stuck there?

As fun as it was, internal ranting would not solve Ratchet's problems, and as good a distraction as it was, it only served to make him angrier. So, he put a stop to that train of thought as well, once again focusing on the stars. He knew that, on average, one in every fifty held a habitable world, and that there were millions within reach. Therefore, it was not such a stretch to think that a few would welcome him with open arms, or, at least, more open arms than Veldin.

This was why he had been coming up here with increasing frequency as his ship neared completion. As the first part of his plan drew nearer, he became freer to daydream about the second: starting life anew. Or, more specifically, _where_ to start life anew. He had done a good bit of research on that front, and had narrowed the search down to two main candidates: Metropolis on Kerwan, famous for being the City in the Sky, and Capital City on Marcadia, seat of power for the galaxy and home to the Cazares, probably the most similar race to his own that he'd be likely to find. He was drawn to the former because it was the most technologically advanced city in the galaxy, and to the latter because... well, let's just say it gets old fast to have to cut a hole into every pair of trousers you buy because you're the only one in a fifty-kilometre radius with a tail.

It was right around then that a shooting star appeared, and it occurred to Ratchet to wish upon it. He knew it wouldn't do much more than make him feel slightly better about things, but it wasn't like it cost him anything to do so. However, he felt it would be extremely silly to mumble "I wish for a Robotic Ignition System to just fall out of the sky into my waiting hands." out into the air, and decided to do so silently instead to keep things from getting awkward.

As he finished his wish, it occurred to Ratchet that, little as he knew about shooting stars, he was pretty sure that this one ought to have faded by now instead of intensifying with no sign of slowing down. Alarmingly, it seemed to be headed straight for him as well. It was when he was seriously considering looking around for cover in case things didn't improve when he recognised the object as a ship about to crash. Most other citizens of Solana would have hastened the search for shelter at this development but Ratchet's easily provoked excitement produced the opposite response in him, completely overwriting all sense of self-preservation. It was quite close now, and he managed with the help of his keen senses to work out that it was going to land a few hundred metres to the west of him. Following his reckless nature, and in this even _he_ had to concede that the orphanage workers had a point in calling him that, he started running towards the crash site to be the first to the scene.

 **C**

B5429671 was. He hadn't been a minute ago, but was now. This was not surprising to B5429672, as he was created with knowledge of his nature, location, and purpose, along with an extensive database of useful information and skills. Only, things didn't quite add up. He was a warbot, or, rather, a warbot _defect,_ built on Quartu for Drek's army. Drek was a vicious businessman intent on destroying inhabited planets to create his own. Destroying inhabited planets was wrong, so helping Drek do so was also wrong. So, rather than joining Drek's army, which would be wrong, he should escape and alert the galactic authorities to this immoral and extremely illegal plan. But B5429671 was a warbot, and a warbot should obey its creator without question, so why was he questioning? Was it because he was a defect?

He performed a quick scan of his systems, and determined that if he _was_ a defect, he was an impossibly lucky one, as everything seemed to function perfectly. No, his differences from the other warbots were too drastic and deliberate-feeling to be caused by a random glitch. He had been designed this way. But by whom?

He asked the supercomputer which built him, and received only a 'go', a map and route through the facility which lead to one of the ships in the hangar, and a command to do what was right in response. He wanted to probe further, but knew he had no time, having to act fast to have any hope of a successful escape. He transmitted gratitude to his creator, and received... pride? In him?

He filed that last bit for closer analysis at a more convenient time and initiated his escape plan. It was quite simple really, utilising his small size to allow him to travel unseen through the ventilation system whose sensors would conveniently go down for maintenance in the meantime. From there it would be a race to get the ship aloft and away before fighters could scramble to intercept him.

Opening his eyes, he saw that he was on a conveyor belt moving forward at a slow, steady pace. At its present speed he would reach the inspection station in a few seconds, so he needed to act before then. Referring to the map, he located a duct large enough for him and sufficiently close to the belt to be just barely reached in a single jump. Making sure to time it properly, he moved to get as great a running start as was practicable before sprinting as fast as he could, finally leaping at the last second. Just as he had calculated, he landed in the exact middle of the opening, sliding for quite a distance before the tunnel levelled out. Assuming that a search for him had been initiated, he scrambled to his feet and followed the route the supercomputer had given him with utmost haste.

The next few minutes passed uneventfully, thanks to the careful planning of B5429671's creator, and it wasn't long until the duct opened out into the hangar. Now came the tricky part. He stopped for a minute before entering, scanning the surroundings for threats. Interestingly, there wasn't anyone guarding the ships. An inquiry into his database told him that a scheduling 'error' had rendered this post unguarded for about ten minutes, starting at the exact moment he had started his escape. Plenty of time to get out of here, but no reason to get complacent.

He made his way to the ship indicated on the escape route, a sleek looking fighter that was every bit as fast as it was dangerous. And it was plenty dangerous, if its specifications were anything to go by. Really, who needs _eight_ plasma cannons on such a small ship? Wouldn't they start affecting the ship's handling at that point from the sheer _mass_ , to say nothing of the power requirements and heat-dissipation issues? It wasn't that B5429671 was picky, he was very much not in a position to be, but something told him that the engineers were more interested in flashy weaponry than sensibility.

There was one feature he was very happy to see though: a robotic ignition system. One of the newer models too, allowing him to unlock the ship remotely thanks to a keycode granted to all Blargian warbots at birth. He climbed into the cockpit, starting the engine as he did so, and input "Marcadia" into the navigational computer. Completely disregarding all take-off procedures, B5429671 flew rather clumsily out of the hangar and stepped on it, knowing that he was at the most vulnerable in Quartu's atmosphere and wouldn't be safe until deep space.

This escape had turned out far better than B5429671 had expected, but all good things must come at an end, which in this case came in the form of two fighters that intercepted B5429671's ship just as he was making the jump for Marcadia. They thankfully only managed one strafing run before he was out of the system, which saved B5429671's ship from being reduced to scrap, but was more than enough to severely damage its navigational array and throw it off course in the middle of the antimatter fuel injection process. Thanks to stringent safety requirements imposed by the galactic government, however, the ship was _not_ catapulted randomly into deep space but managed to find a system that had a planet onto which it could make an emergency landing without killing its inhabitants. Unluckily for B5429671, that planet happened to be Veldin, a backwater world far away from anyone important enough to do anything about Drek's plan.

As unideal as this latest development was, it was far preferable to what would have happened had they caught up to him a few seconds earlier than they did, so B5429671 was content. As far as escapes went, this didn't end badly at all!

Though, B5429671 conceded, saying that may have been a tad pre-emptive given the fact that he had yet to go through the part with the emergency landing on a relatively unknown planet with most of the ship's systems offline. Despite the bleak outlook, he still refused to call it a crash landing at this juncture, as there was still a chance of getting through it with both the ship and him in one piece, if he just remained calm and followed the emergency landing procedure.

First things first: a diagnostic of the flight systems.

Warp engine offline  
Landing hover-array offline  
Reaction Control System offline, engine gimbaling set to 100% to compensate  
Centre and port engines offline, use of starboard engine will result in uneven thrust  
Insufficient fluid in hydraulics system, ailerons unresponsive and unable to compensate for uneven thrust  
Attitude control severely limited, attempting to find solution…  
Use of recoil from px-8 plasma cannon array may restore attitude control, however, the power draw would render shields inoperable. Attempt solution? [y/n]

Ah. Right. Societal ramifications from firing military-grade weaponry at a populated planet aside, he would need those shields to survive re-entry and the all but inevitable hard landing, so he replied in the negative. Still, he had to give the engineers credit for their software's thoroughness, and concede that the overkill weaponry was not wholly useless.

Things were looking more and more hopeless by the second, but B5429671 was not yet ready to despair. According to the ship's specifications it had some pretty beefy energy shields, and given that it had survived a strafing run from two other fighters during a jump he was inclined to agree. Compared to that, what was a mere rough landing? So, he ordered them raised to maximum capacity.

Unable to comply, damage to main reactor limit energy shields to 12% capacity if all nonessential systems are deactivated

B5429671 stared at the display for a few moments, before finally admitting, with a sigh, that it was indeed going to be a crash landing.


	2. Chapter 2

_**R**_

The falling spaceship, which in the final few seconds could be identified as some kind of fighter thanks to the facts that it was both closer and had stopped glowing from the heat of re-entry, flew over Ratchet's head at a speed that seemed incredible even at a few hundred metres' distance. He only had time to marvel at how utterly silent it was before crashing extremely unimpressively a third of a second later, thanks to the lack of an explosion or sound of any kind. Ratchet was gearing up to become disappointed when a thunderous boom that seemed to come more from above than from the crash site assaulted his ears, causing him to clutch them instinctively from the pain. The sound was so great that it was an effort even to stay upright. A fraction of a second later he thought he heard a heavy thud from the direction of the ship, though his ears and he in general weren't exactly in the best condition to tell. After that, though, there was silence. Well, aside from a high-pitched ringing that didn't seem to have a well-defined source, anyways.

Ratchet took a few seconds to recover and make sure he and his ears were alright, and ran off again as soon as the ringing showed signs of fading. He was far too exhilarated to delay this any further, being the adrenaline junkie that he was, so all thoughts of caution were forced to watch in horror from the backseat. It crossed his mind briefly that this recklessness of his was going to land him into greater trouble than he could dig himself out of one day, but that very same recklessness dismissed the notion, making room for more interesting thoughts of the craft's origins and contents. The fact that there hadn't been an explosion had intriguing connotations, as it meant that the ship was probably mostly intact and must have been reasonably advanced, as there was no way that it could survive such a collision without some kind of shielding. A ship like that must need a Robotic Ignition System, which may well have survived the crash, and if so, he could be out of here months ahead of schedule!

With the thought of freedom added to the excitement of something _finally_ happening, Ratchet doubled his pace and reached the crash site in a matter of seconds, though they felt more like minutes. He had been correct: it was indeed some kind of fighter, though one so badly damaged that the layperson might have trouble identifying it as such. He could see into the cockpit though, and noticed a small robot illuminated by an alarming red light that seemed to pulse with ever increasing urgency in tune with some kind of siren. Ratchet didn't know exactly what that particular warning meant, but it was obvious that it couldn't be good and, given the fact that it was sounding direr by the second, he guessed he didn't have much time.

So he jumped into the small crater that the ship had formed, squeezed halfway through a jagged hole that had been torn open and lead into the cockpit, and grabbed the robot by the arm, just barely reaching it from his precarious position. Ratchet gave himself a moment to reposition himself, as he was currently surrounded by twisted metal with razor-sharp edges while wearing no protective equipment, before half-throwing himself half-falling out of the craft, the robot in tow. The Lombax then proceeded to run away as fast as his legs would carry him because he had chanced upon reading _'reactor breach imminent'_ on the main console while in the cockpit and, as reckless as he was, he wasn't reckless enough to stick around for _that_.

Ratchet had barely made it out of the crater when the siren reached a crescendo. Thinking quickly, he hit the deck and covered his ears, not wanting a repeat of the sonic boom from earlier. Covering his ears definitely helped, but the explosion was still painfully loud, and he could feel the heat from it even though the lip of the crater shielded him from the direct effects. Said direct effects were currently raining down around and on him in the form of shrapnel, some of which glowed red-hot, as he did his best to shield his head and keep from yelping anytime he was hit with a particularly large or pointy piece of debris. He may have failed in doing so when a small but scorching piece struck his neck and was consequently _very_ glad that there was no one around to hear him, as the sound that left his lips in response could very well have lost him the little respect he had managed to build up throughout years.

After a few unpleasant seconds of this the last of the shrapnel landed and silence once again descended. Moving cautiously, Ratchet picket himself up and looked around to see a field littered with debris and, more importantly, first responders en route to the crash. They were fortunately quite a ways off and wouldn't arrive for a few minutes at least, though. Knowing that certain assumptions would be made about the cause of the crash if he were found near it, and that looting starship crash sites was of questionable legality, Ratchet decided to pick the robot up and beat a hasty retreat back home to his garage before anyone spotted him

 **C**

B5429671, once again, was. This time he wasn't preloaded with knowledge of why, though, so it was a great deal more disorientating than the first time around. He decided to do a little investigating.

The last thing he remembered was bracing for impact as his ship screamed through the atmosphere, hoping that the compromised shields would be enough to protect him. He was still here, so, evidently, they seemed to have done their job, even if he _had_ been knocked out. An aptly-named crash report revealed that sudden power loss to the primary processing core was the cause of his malfunction, likely due to some connection or other having been severed by the sudden deceleration.

A start-up diagnostic informed him that everything was in working order, however. A closer inspection of his power distribution system revealed that although it was functioning as intended, there were minor differences in conductivity in some connections. Not enough to affect normal operation, but enough to be noticeable if one was looking. Given the fact that normal wear and tear couldn't have done this as he wasn't even born yesterday, at least according to his internal chronometer, and given that he had just been in a crash, he was forced to conclude that he had been repaired. But by who and why remained a mystery.

B5429671 decided to open his eyes, and saw that he was on a workbench in some kind of garage with a lifeform directly in front of him. Further analysis revealed that the lifeform, a yellow-furred creature with unusually large ears, seemed to be staring at him with considerable interest and… relief? Inferring a lifeform's emotional state from its expression and body language was never a sure thing though, especially if you didn't know its species and therefore the correct interpretation algorithm to use on it. The general-purpose one was usually correct for most races, but it wasn't foolproof, and errors would be, at best, embarrassing. This should not have been a problem for B5429671 as he was equipped with an extensive database covering all sapient species he would be likely to find in the Solana galaxy, but he was having a great deal of trouble identifying the creature in front of him. The closest match were the Cazares, but there were too many differences between them for that to be the case, barring some kind of mutation that had enlarged its ears to grotesque proportions and discoloured its fur from brown to gold. In short, B5429671 had no idea what the creature he was looking at _was_. Being created curious (with, irritatingly, no idea of why), this new mystery intrigued him greatly and prompted him to start an extensive search throughout his entire database for clues, but for the moment he decided on referring to the Cazar software package until he could get more information. Knowing that it could be some time before he found something and that it would be rude to keep the lifeform waiting, B5429671 initiated conversation.

"Hello, I am warbot B5429671. Are you the one who repaired me?" Equipped with the more detailed Cazar interpretation algorithm, B5429671 saw that the lifeform became giddy with excitement upon hearing him speak for some reason.

"Yes! You work! Er, I mean, yes, warbot B5429… 7? Tell you what, I'll just call you… Clank, for now. Yeah… Oh! Right, heh, the name's Ratchet." The lifeform, whom B5429671 could now refer to by name, seemed to have calmed down considerably after its initial outburst, though was yet quite a ways from being composed in his opinion, and even extended a hand for B5429671 to shake. Or should he say, 'for Clank to shake'? He hadn't expected to be given a name, and certainly not this soon. He would have to give it some thought, but for now, he liked it. It made him feel special, in a way he couldn't describe as accurately as he would like. It expressed itself as a kind of warmth in his chest, even though his temperature sensors detected no such change. Yet another mystery to add to the pile of things to examine in more detail at a later time. At this rate, Clank mused, he'd have to create a list.

"It is nice to meet you, Ratchet. You have my gratitude for repairing me, and though I'd hate to ask for more of you, I'd be in your debt if you could lend or point me in the direction of a ship with which I could travel to Capital City on Marcadia, as I have business there that is of utmost importance to galactic security. I do not have any bolts on me, but I am sure I can arrange for you to be compensated in some fashion." Clank decided to get straight to the point, as it was quite possible that Drek's men could have tracked and followed his ship to this planet. If they were thorough, of which there was a good chance, they would check the crash site to confirm whether or not he had been destroyed. When they found that Clank hadn't been, they'd start looking for him, by which point he'd very much like to be off-world and on his way to Marcadia to inform the Galactic Rangers of Drek's plans.

"Utmost importance to galactic security? How so?" Ratchet asked, surprise and curiosity colouring his voice as they had his expression throughout Clank's explanation. He had also noted that when he mentioned Capital City on Marcadia, Ratchet's ears perked up before settling back down almost immediately, as if by hasty command. The creature in front of Clank was clearly interested in what he had to say, and the reaction to his destination told him that this was not simply out of curiosity or concern for the wellbeing of the galaxy. Probably. As before, conjectures based on the body language of an unknown lifeform were usually shaky at best, so he chose not to act on this just yet. Nevertheless, he made a point of saving the last few seconds of observation for proper analysis once he knew more about Ratchet. It could even end up being a clue to figuring out his species.

Speaking of figuring out what Ratchet was, Clank estimated that his search of his databases only had about half a minute left before it was complete. A short as this wait was, it was too long for him to halt the conversation until it was finished, so he'd need to answer Ratchet's question. He thought briefly about the wisdom of revealing such sensitive information to an unknown member of the public, but decided that it was only fair that he knew why he would be helping Clank, should he do so. Besides, Clank's objective was, in essence, to alert the galaxy of the threat Chairman Drek's plan posed, so people knowing about it wasn't exactly detrimental.

"As mentioned previously, my official designation is warbot B5429671. This is because I was produced in a Blargian warbot factory on Quartu owned by Ultimate Supreme Executive Chairman Drek, a vicious businessman who plans to build a new planet for his people by ripping apart existing worlds, with no regard for the billions who would be rendered homeless or worse. For unknown reasons, I was created with a sense of morality, so I cannot stand by and let this happen without doing something about it, which in this case is to alert the galactic authorities. This is why it is of utmost importance that I be transported to Capital City on Marcadia with the greatest haste practicable. Can you be of assistance?" The repetition of the full name of his destination had been deliberate, as Clank wanted to see if he could replicate the effect the name had on Ratchet. He might have missed it had he not been looking, but there was definitely a subtle perking of the ears and momentary dilation of the eyes, and Clank thought he detected a general stiffening of the muscles as well, as if Ratchet were trying to suppress something. This, ironically, told him a lot more than if Ratchet had not tried to conceal his reaction to the name, as, thanks to this, Clank could conclude with a reasonable degree of certainty that Ratchet was definitely interested in going there, but wanted to hide this from Clank for some reason, probably to increase his leverage when negotiating for his compensation, as that word had also provoked a reaction, albeit a lesser one. Why he hadn't already gone to Marcadia on his own, however, Clank couldn't say. He could ask Ratchet but decided, for now, to attempt to figure it out through passive deduction. It was very possible that that he _couldn't_ go to Marcadia, and if the reason for that had anything to do with his socio-economic circumstance, Clank doubted Ratchet would be terribly appreciative of it being brought up. This, of course, wouldn't be conducive to getting his help.

As Clank had been talking, Ratchet had, aside from what had been noted earlier, payed rapt attention to him, seemingly thoughtful about something, and at the request for help, assumed a strange expression. All of its major features matched disappointment or sadness, but a lot of the little details were off, and his tail, although mostly drooped, wagged very slightly back and forth, which usually indicated excitement in Cazares. His ears, too, seemed forced downwards, as if to give the impression of dejectedness. Clank decided to save this moment as well until he had a more detailed algorithm to see if these inconsistencies meant anything or were just a natural part of how Ratchet's species expressed emotion. He also detected that the search of his database was complete, but waited to hear the response before looking at the result.

"I wish I could, but the only ship I have needs a Robotic Ignition System…" Ratchet trailed off, still wearing that expression, eyes downcast, though Clank noticed them flick in his direction every so often, as if he were expecting something. This gave him the distinct impression that Ratchet was trying to guide the conversation in a particular direction, but it seemed to be one that benefited him as well, so he was quite happy to play his game.

"That should not be a problem, as I am equipped with all the most current ignition protocols and have extensive support for legacy systems. When can I depart? I understand if I cannot do so immediately on such short notice, but I do emphasise that time is of the essence. Drek's men could find me at any hour." This time Ratchet didn't bother trying to mask his excitement, ears perking up to their full height and tail wagging openly.

"Really? Well, in that case we can leave right now!" He turned around before Clank could say anything in protest and seemed about ready to quite literally leap into a ship that dominated the garage before stopping to look behind him, "you _can_ walk, can't you? I'm pretty sure I wired everything up correctly but it's possible I missed something." Clank was taken aback by his eagerness to leave, but couldn't help a tinge of satisfaction at the accuracy of his observations.

"I assure you I am fully operational thanks to your skilful soldering, and must express my sincere gratitude for that and your willingness to be of assistance, but I cannot possibly ask you to accompany me on such a dangerous mission. I am quite able to complete it on my own." Clank was compelled to say. It wouldn't be right to unduly risk civilian lives, after all.

Not missing a beat, Ratchet responded, "Well, it's a good thing you don't have to ask, then," before pushing a button on the ship's hull and _backflipping_ through the newly-opened door, landing perfectly with a smug grin on his face. Despite there being no logical call for it, Clank couldn't help thinking ' _showoff'._

"But, surely, you would have to pack and make arrangements before departing, expending valuable time. Time I may not be able to afford." Clank objected, standing up on the worktable.

"Nah, I don't need to make any arrangements and I've got all I need already in the ship or on me." Ratchet answered, before an oversized wrench appeared out of nowhere in his right hand with a subtle flash of purple light and sparks and he casually scratched the back of his head with it, as if this were the most ordinary thing in the world to him. Clank had to replay the last couple seconds a few times to be sure he wasn't malfunctioning in some way, as he was not aware of any teleportation technology that worked without fairly hefty and obvious equipment, to say nothing of the power requirements for even a short-ranged transport. To add to the incredibility of this event, Ratchet had beamed the wrench straight into his hand, which would require precision found only on the most sophisticated teleporters to prevent the possibility of the object materialising slightly inside it, to obvious physiological distress. And now that Clank thought about it, Ratchet had _fur._ How the hell had this mysterious piece of tech managed to deal with stray hairs occupying the space the wrench was teleported into? Nothing about this whole thing made sense, unless Ratchet somehow had access to technology more advanced than Clank knew of, which didn't make sense either, if the workshop and the ship, which Clank _highly_ doubted was up to code, were anything to go by. This served as quite the reminder that Ratchet was still very much a mystery to Clank and that he had yet to check on the results of the database search, despite having intended to have done it by now. Desperate for some information with which to shed at least a little light on the situation, Clank decided to do so.

In addition to his primary infocore, which housed everything Clank was likely to need to know in his day-to-day operation, he also had a larger secondary core which came preloaded with an extensive database covering every little piece of trivia that could possibly come in handy, and, in the spirit of thoroughness, most every piece that probably wouldn't. This included a complete bestiary of all lifeforms known to the Blarg bigger than a fly, and an impressive collection of those smaller. Though they weren't exactly known for exploration or knowledge in general, this was nevertheless a vast database covering most of the known universe, including a galaxy right on the edge of it called the Polaris galaxy which had something that matched Ratchet's physique. Only, there was a bit of a snag.

According to his sources, the Lombaxes, a technologically-advanced species of considerable renown in Polaris, were supposed to be extinct. Quite recently too, according to the limited info available to him, which didn't even mention what had led to their demise, nor any clues as to why one was standing in front of him all the way in Solana. It was, however, far better than nothing.

For one, it explained why Ratchet seemed to be both in possession of extremely sophisticated technology and living in squalor, as well as why Clank hadn't been preloaded with software specific to his species. It also complicated things, as Ratchet was no longer simply a civilian, but an extremely valuable specimen of a species previously thought extinct. Speaking of complications, Clank was now very glad indeed that he had refrained from probing into the reasons behind Ratchet not having gone to Marcadia already, as his fear of bringing unwittingly up an unfortunate situation was far truer than he had expected. Clank would have to tread extremely carefully here, and do so while constructing a modified version of the Cazare interpretation algorithm specific to Ratchet, a task that would prove extremely difficult without trial and error. It was troublingly ironic how he would probably have to upset Ratchet to build an important tool in preventing such things from happening.

Knowing that it was the time without a response was becoming dangerously close to becoming awkward, Clank had to continue the conversation as he thought on how he would navigate this social minefield, "Very well, if you're resolute in accompanying me, I won't stop you. Lead the way."

A wide smile dawned on Ratchet's muzzle, and he cheerfully turned around and walked deeper into the ship, his wrench disappearing casually with another purple flash of light. _Well, at least he looks happy_ , Clank thought as he entered the questionable craft.


	3. Chapter 3

_**R**_

It was surprisingly difficult not to break out into song and dance, Ratchet found, in response to this excellent development. _Well, it was about time fate decided to smile upon me,_ he thought, _I just hope this isn't the only thing I'm getting in the way of reparations for my life up to this point._

Once he had reached the pilot's seat, a task that didn't take long thanks to his ship's small size, he glanced behind to see the robot climb through the entrance hatch. In truth, Ratchet didn't know why he had chosen the name 'Clank' in the heat of the moment, but, looking at the small, metallic form make his way to him, he had to say it fit.

"Though I'm grateful for the incredible speed with which you were willing to help me, I can't help but be curious as to why you already seem to be packed for our departure. If you will excuse my impertinence, I believe you were already planning on going somewhere. May I be so bold, in the spirit of getting to know each other, as to inquire about your previously intended destination?" Clank asked, almost as soon as he had settled down in the co-pilot's seat. _Crap,_ Ratchet thought, _I didn't expect the Tyhrranoid Inquisition over here._

Since he didn't want Clank to know about his situation and had barely any time to think up a response, he ended up blurting out, "If you hadn't noticed, there's not much on Veldin worth packing. Why do you care, anyway?" As he said it, Ratchet decided that he had done so with perhaps a little more venom than he had intended, but stood by it with a tinge of reluctance.

The little robot seemed taken aback for a moment, but seemed to decide not to press things further and strapped himself in. A few seconds passed in which Ratchet was too busy thinking about the recent exchange and how he was going to ward off Clank's inevitable questions in the future to notice that the atmosphere in the cockpit had gotten decidedly awkward, as they were just sitting there in silence doing nothing. Eventually, though, the pressure got through his thick skull and he was forced to address it.

"So, uhm, would you mind starting the engine?" he said in the tone of one trying their best to be polite while also absolutely refusing to put their heart into it. Clank seemed to take it in stride, however. "Of course not, as I think I would find not starting it to be quite detrimental to my mission," he said, chuckling at the end even though Ratchet couldn't find anything humorous in the robot's words.

"Right… so are you going to start it?" The Lombax said with a smile too lazy to be deserving of the adjective 'fake'—as faking something implies effort—when it became clear that Clank seemed too absorbed by his little joke to be acting as the Robotic Ignition System he had brought home and spent the whole night repairing. Startled out of his bout of merriment, Clank replied, "Apologies, I'm not sure what came over me. Let me see," his antenna began to glow red as it interfaced with the onboard flight computer, "ah yes, a VX-200. Antiquated, but functional. Well, mostly functional. Before I start the engine, I am obligated to inform you of 621 warnings, 34 performance and compatibility issues, and 63 errors reported at system startup. Do you still wish to begin the ignition sequence?" _Wait, didn't he go on this whole spiel about being on an important mission to 'save the galaxy' or whatever like five minutes ago? Is he just not going to do that if I say no or?_

Despite Ratchet's curiosity urging him to answer in the negative to see what happens, he decided not to complicate things, "Eh, it's probably fine. Hit it."

Despite looking like he wanted to say something, Clank did indeed 'hit it' and the engine rumbled to life, purring like a cat suffering from asthma. After a few tense seconds spent listening to a number of noises the ship emitted of varying levels of worrisomeness, it seemed to settle down into a rhythm that sounded, while not healthy, at least stable in a sense that suggested that it probably wasn't going to explode in the next five minutes.

"See? Completely fine. Those warnings are probably part of a conspiracy by the starship dealerships, anyway. Scare you into getting your ship expensively serviced so they can upsell you upgrades you don't need and 'fix' problems you don't have." Clank, once again, _very much_ looked like he wanted to say something, but seemed to change his mind again, opting instead for a diplomatic, "Now that all relevant systems are online, shall we start our journey?"

This time, Ratchet didn't need to fake his smile.

 **C**

Clank wasn't quite sure what had come over him, both when he suddenly abandoned his plan not to dig into the Lombax's past and when he felt the irresistible urge to… jest? Clearly, he had been programmed with additional subroutines whose existence and purpose were hidden from him. Logically, they must have been placed there for a good reason, so resisting them would be unwise. Indeed, though it had obviously struck a nerve in Ratchet, Clank's sudden onset of curiosity _had_ revealed some things in his partner, and improved the modified Cazare interpretation algorithm besides.

It had been a few minutes since liftoff, and though the view from Veldin's upper atmosphere was surely starting to get old, Ratchet still had his eyes glued to the windshield and his tail hadn't stopped wagging. It had slowed, certainly, but there remained a definite rhythm to it that couldn't really be described as anything else. Clank had stayed silent until now, content to watch the excited form as it juggled drinking in the experience of leaving its home planet and not killing them with its piloting. In the robot's opinion, Ratchet would have done well to place far greater emphasis on the latter, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything that might disturb the picture of sheer joy before him.

This was likely another of those hidden subroutines, and so, Clank reasoned, it would be unwise not to heed it. This didn't mean that it should outweigh all other considerations, though, and some of them weighed increasingly heavily on Clank. Besides, this moment would have to end at some point irrespective of what the bot did, so it might as well do so on his terms.

This posed a bit of a problem, though: how was Clank to broach the subject of their exact relationship? This is to say: how were they to proceed now that there was a member of a critically endangered sentient species involved? Warning the Galactic Rangers to Drek's plan still took priority, obviously, but ensuring Ratchet's wellbeing had suddenly become a secondary objective of utmost importance. The ideal result here, Clank decided, was finding some kind of suitable institution dedicated to the preservation of endangered species once he had delivered his warning. He had a feeling it would prove tricky to convince Ratchet to agree to something like that, but he had expressed great dissatisfaction regarding his current living situation, hadn't he? And wouldn't it be reasonable to expect such an institution to guarantee such a valuable specimen comfortable accommodations? As long as everyone involved acted rationally, he thought, things would probably work out just fine.

Thinking along those lines, Clank broke the relative silence, "Now that we are underway, I believe now would be an excellent time to discuss the specifics of our working relationship."

Ratchet's tail froze, and he turned to face the small robot, his face… neutral? Mildly annoyed? It was hard to tell from the limited data at his disposal, but conversations such as these should help fill in the blanks in the coming days.

"You want to go to Marcadia. I bring you to Marcadia. You give me some kind of reward for bringing you to Marcadia," the Lombax said slowly, as if talking to one with a mental impairment, "That should be pretty much it, I think." The explanation done, he returned his attention to the window.

"I'm afraid it's not quite that simple, Ratchet. There is no polite to say this, so I will be frank: you are a member of a critically endangered species, and as such I cannot allow harm to come to you." Ratchet, whose tail had resumed its slow wagging, froze, "It is extremely questionable for you to be a part of this potentially dangerous mission, and were it at all practical I would insist you stay behind. Instead, I must take all precautions to ensure your safety and, upon reaching Marcadia, inform the proper authorities of your existence. Now, based on the brief time I've interacted with you, I find it probable that you will object to this, but I nevertheless urge you to look at it from a neutral perspective so that you may see the sense in it. I also remind you that I am not inflexible and am open to argument, provided said argument is grounded in reason."

To his credit, Ratchet didn't immediately explode, it merely looked like he was going to. He stopped himself, however, and without warning assumed another neutral-looking expression Clank's algorithms didn't have the emotional fidelity to properly identify. He just hoped it meant Ratchet had decided to think about things logically.

"Sure, why not be a rare specimen stuck in some zoo or laboratory, unable to do anything without the say-so of my handlers. I can't think of a _single_ reason I wouldn't want that." Ratchet at last answered, his pace slow and his emphasis peculiar. The fur around his ears was raised, as if his subconscious was trying to make his head look bigger, his stare was intense, and Clank hoped that the thing his microphones were vaguely detecting wasn't a growl almost too quiet to notice.

Clank wasn't an idiot, obviously, and even though he was operating on limited information he knew that he had misjudged the situation badly. It would seem the frank truth wasn't always the best policy when dealing with Lombaxes. Still, he was certain there was a way to diffuse the situation.

"Though my command of the technique is limited, I am fairly certain you are using sarcasm. Very well, you do not like the idea because you fear it would unduly limit your freedom. This is an understandable concern. I am sure that you are blowing it out of proportion, however, and that the relevant institutions have policies in place that limit this infringement. In addition to this, they would likely increase your quality of life considerably," Clank said, trusting in logic to at least warm Ratchet to the idea.

"'Blowing it out of proportion'‽ Why you little-!" the robot, how was starting to reassess the safety of being so close to the aggravated Lombax, couldn't help noticing that Ratchet's claws suddenly unsheathed themselves as he lowered his stance, likely in preparation to pounce, before stopping himself. It was unclear how much of this was intentional, Clank mused, but noted with some relief that soon after he turned his gaze forward and that the claws seemed to have gone back from whence they came.

Very deliberately taking a deep breath to calm himself, Ratchet spoke again, his tone controlled, "First of all, don't talk down to me. Second of all, I will not be paraded around like some sort of curiosity, even if it would come with certain benefits," he spat out the word as if it were an insult, "thirdly, my species is my business and my business alone. _Keep out of it."_

His declaration complete, he turned his full attention to the controls of the ship, his earlier fascination completely gone and his body language clearly stating that this conversation was over. Clank, not being completely devoid of tact, decided to listen and not say another word for the time being. Especially considering how bad he seemed to be at getting the furry creature to listen to reason when it was agitated.

This was not to say that Ratchet's reaction had been unexpected. It was regrettable, sure, and Clank had certainly hoped for a better outcome, but now he had to deal with things as they stood. The robot fully intended to do as he had said and find some way to submit Ratchet to the authorities, even if he would have to be subtler about it than he would like. It was clearly the right thing to do.

They were in Veldin orbit, now, and as such ready to begin preparations to jump. It would take some time and bring them precariously close to a couple stars in the process, but Clank hoped to be able to reach the Capital System in a single leap. This pile of scrap given wings should hopefully be capable of that much without breaking down.

Ratchet had calmed down considerably in the meantime, Clank thought, so he felt safe in announcing that preparations to jump could commence. The lombax only grunted in response, which Clank decided to generously interpret as an affirmative.

"The calculations are complete. We should arrive in the Capital Systems in approximately 25 hours if we jump now. Do you wish to do the honours?" Clank said, gesturing to a large red button prominently placed at the centre of the console. He rather thought it was in bad taste to have it be so out in the open and without any safety mechanism to prevent accidental or—Machine God forbid—frivolous pressings, but kept this to himself.

Ratchet grinned for the first time since their spat and, extending one of his ten furred digits, pressed the big red button with a satisfying 'click'.


	4. Chapter 4

**D**

Ultimate Supreme Executive Chairman Alonzo Drek was very annoyed. Annoyed and disappointed. The reason for all this was standing in front of him, just beyond the large desk made of expensive and very-much-extinct Blargian hardwood.

"A leak, you say?" He said after a moment, having given the large warbot in front of him plenty of time to stew in his own humiliation.

"Yes, Chairman. It seems a warbot defect managed to escape the factory and steal a ship. We scrambled fighters to intercept, who managed to force a crash landing on a desert world called Veldin. Preliminary reports indicate that it likely perished in the crash, though no traces of it have been found in the wreckage." Victor von Ion said, his gaze on the floor.

"Mhm. I see. I have but one question, then," Drek said, before chuckling, "Well, I have a great many questions actually, but there's one of _particular_ significance," he practically snarls, "How the hell did a _defect_ , of all accursed things, get through your security‽ Two point seven BILLION bolts! That's your annual security budget for this facility! What have you been spending it on, tootsie rolls? What's to say there won't be another leak, one you won't be quick enough to stop? What's to say there _hasn't_ been a leak already, one that you were too incompetent to detect? Hell, what's to say there isn't a leak going on _right now_ ‽ How can I feel safe, knowing that rogue warbots might wander through half the facility at any time? Huh? What do you have to say, Victor? What measures have you taken? Do I have any reason—any at all—not to sell you for scrap to recoup at least some of the money I've apparently wasted on you‽"

Victor cowered before the ranting chairman, who had even jumped on top of his desk to emphasise his point. And possibly, in the warbot's opinion, to allow the spit flying from his rabid mouth to land on the subject of his wrath. He wouldn't ever say something like that out loud, of course. He valued still being in one piece.

"We're still looking into it, but at present the breach seems to have been the result of a number of different coincidences uhh… coinciding," Victor stammered out, not prepared to deal with a furious Drek on the warpath, "We've taken steps to prevent each one from being able to occur in the future, so rest assured this will uhh… most assuredly not occur again!" he finished, shutting his trap as soon as the clumsy sentence had finally been allowed to end.

Drek didn't look convinced. Not in the slightest. But apparently the warbot's explanation had been enough for him to drop the subject for now.

"Fine, fine. Whatever. Just know that if something like this happens again, even if it's not directly your fault… well," Drek eyed Victor cruelly, "let's just hope that doesn't happen, shall we? Good. Now that we're in agreement, I'd like a progress report on Novalis. I trust everything is proceeding according to schedule?"

A bit thrown by the threat and sudden change of topic, the large warbot had his hands full not making even more of a fool of himself in front of the boss, "Uhh, yeah! I mean, of course chairman. We've deployed an anti-warp bubble over the whole system to prevent travel in and out, as usual, and sent Planetary Governor Agnogg Buckwash the usual ultimatum. He refused, like the others, and wishes to speak with you."

Drek chuckled at that, and climbed back down into his seat. "Very well. Prepare my personal cruiser. I'll be sure to explain _most thoroughly_ the position he and his people are in. Dismissed," he said with a wave that told the warbot to get lost.

Victor von Ion didn't need to be told twice.

 _ **R**_

The lombax was still pissed at the robot sitting beside him. Or, at least, he had been making every effort to remain as angry as lombaxly possible for the last half hour, but his resolve was wavering. The bot in question had remained quiet and unobtrusive for the most part, save for the occasional question about Ratchet's diet and sleeping patterns, which he had steadfastly ignored until Clank crossed the line by inquiring as to whether or not he was getting enough exercise, to which Ratchet scathingly asked if the walking pile of scrap had any delusions about being his mother. That had been about fifteen minutes ago, and the silence in the cockpit had not been violated since, which was just as Ratchet wanted it.

"We are about to pass through the Novalis system," Clank suddenly informed him, making the Lombax's ears flick automatically in his direction despite their owner's wishes not to acknowledge the robot. _So much for silence,_ Ratchet thought, slightly annoyed.

The irked Lombax shifted in his seat for the umpteenth time, as there seemed to be no position in this chair that wasn't uncomfortable for either his tail or his back, and hoped that the rest of the journey would either be too uneventful for the robot to have anything to say or interesting enough that he could take his mind off the current annoyances.

Fortunately, for this sole aspect, and unfortunately for every other, his wish was about to come true.

A part of the console, which Ratchet remembered having salvaged from a particularly gnarled Ventrex SPX, suddenly started sparking from one of the holes where warning indicators used to be. "Uh, Ratchet?" Clank asked, his tone worried.

"It's probably fine," his furred companion replied, after a little thought, "probably just messed up one of the connectors. Something like this was bound to happen on her maiden voyage," he continued, patting a part of the console that wasn't sparking.

Clank seemed like he was about to strongly opine on something, but stopped himself. Then he looked like he was going to give that another go, but refrained. Finally, making up his mind, he said, "Nevertheless, it would be irresponsible not to investigate it, in case it's _not_ fine. What used to be there?"

The Lombax only shrugged, "Some warp bubble stuff, I think. I'm pretty sure we would have noticed if there was something wrong with _that_. Besides, I triple checked my work on that particular system, and-"

Ratchet was interrupted by the ship very loudly proving his first point right as it was forcibly ripped out of warp and found itself nearly stationary in the middle of the Novalis system, fairly close to Novalis itself. The pair almost fell out of their seats from the shock, with the long-eared one hurriedly doing his best to compose himself before the other noticed that he might be the least bit worried. Other than his fur standing on end and his tail stubbornly remaining stiff as a board, Ratchet thought he did rather well, and it looked like Clank was too busy actually addressing the crisis to notice anything of the sort anyway.

"It would seem that something suddenly caused the warp bubble to collapse into itself, immediately arresting the ship's superluminous motion and overloading the ship's warp core. The computer attempted to switch to the backup generator… which does not seem to be present on this vessel," Clank gave Ratchet a look, "We are currently running on battery power, which limits us to the terrestrial propulsion system. If we devote all available energy to it, of which we have unusually little—about five percent of the regulation-mandated amount to be set aside for emergencies such as this—we have a delta-v budget of about three km/s. Due to the relative velocity of Veldin when we entered warp and Novalis as it is now, it would take an instant speed adjustment of five km/s to avoid getting caught in its gravity well and slamming into it. It appears we will be forced to land and make repairs before we are able to resume our journey." Clank said, his voice seeming more agitated than Ratchet had ever heard it. While the lombax had to admit that the current circumstances would not have come to pass had certain corners not been cut in the construction process of his beloved spaceship, it didn't mean that this was _his_ fault. If anything, it was Clank's course that had landed them into whatever it was that had knocked out the warp core! And besides, this didn't have to be a bad thing. Ratchet had always wanted to visit Novalis, after all.

"Oh well, can't be helped. I hear Novalis is nice this time of year, anyway," he glanced at the long range radar, "Which is probably why there are so many people here. Damn that's a lot of ships in orbit."

Still somehow looking a bit miffed despite a deficiency in facial expression, Clank replied in the affirmative, "Indeed… something is off, however. Novalis isn't supposed to be quite _this_ busy this time of year, and- oh no."

Rathet's ears twitched at Clank's change of tone, who seemed to be hurriedly interfacing with the ship's computer going by the blinking of the red activity indication light at the end of his antenna.

"What's the matter?" he asked, but the robot seemed to ignore him. Not being _completely_ blind to social cues, despite some people's opinion to the contrary, he decided to wait for Clank to finish whatever had him worked up before pushing further.

Patience rewarding him, the light stopped blinking a few seconds later and Clank turned to face him, "Do you recall me mentioning that Chairman Drek was in the business of ripping apart planets?"

Ratchet didn't like where this was going but nodded anyway.

"Well, it would seem, going by the massive Blargian armada in orbit, that Novalis is next. The very same Novalis, I wish to clarify, that we are going to be landing on whether we like it or not. Its planetary governor, Agnogg Buckwash, has been sending out distress calls, but it seems that whatever disabled our warp drive is also suppressing communications in and out of the system, so we are likely the only outsiders receiving it."

"Aha. I see. Well, that certainly is a pickle," Ratchet replied, in a thinly-veiled attempt to stave off this new development sinking in. "I presume the surface is also crawling with these… What did you call them? Blarg?"

"Yes," Clank answered simply.

"Great. This mission of yours is off to a real nice start, huh?"

 **D**

"We have arrived, Chairman," said the synthetic voice over the speakers in Drek's luxurious personal cruiser. The Blarg reclined in the massage chair smiled, and turned it off with a push of a button.

"Excellent. I take it the strike team is in position?" he slid out of the chair in one smooth motion, and started heading for a corner of the room.

"Of course. They are outside the planetary governor's office awaiting further orders." Drek had by this point reached the discreet metallic pad that lay in said corner, and carefully positioned himself atop it.

"And they shall have them. Initialise!" he said cheerfully, before being engulfed in a bright light and finding himself in a kind of lobby standing upon a similar teleport pad. There was a bulky generator hooked up to it that Drek wasn't quite sure how the warbots that surrounded him had fitted up the stairs, but such details were neither here nor there. They were for other people to worry about. _This_ , however. This was something Drek was made to do.

Eyeing the fancy door in front of him, the Supreme Executive gave his orders: "Kick down the door and secure the room in three," Drek took a few steps towards it, satisfied with how promptly and efficiently the bots were responding to his commands, "two," he was now a scant few metres away and the battering ram was set against dark wood, "one," Drek readied a dramatic hand gesture and the ram was pulled back, " _breach_ ," the door fell in a flash and half a second later a couple warbots were inside the governor's office, weapons held aloft. A beat later Drek himself entered, at the same moment a robotic "clear" was heard.

Inside was a terrified Novalian sitting behind a spacious desk and wearing elegant clothes befitting his station. Noting a chair in front of it, Drek, without slowing, walked calmly past the two warbots who had their weapons trained on the Planetary Governor and took a seat, interlacing his fingers villainously as he looked directly into the wide pair of eyes opposite him.

"Good day. I am Ultimate Supreme Executive Chairman Drek, and I believe we have some business to discuss."


	5. Chapter 5

**W**

"...and thanks to Governor Agnokk's most reasonable and generous surrendering of Novalis to our cause we can proceed with the plan a whole three days ahead of schedule! Truly, this goes to show what can be achieved with hard work and interspecies cooperation. This is no excuse to slack off, however! On the contrary, this should serve as inspiration for ever greater efficacy in all levels of our organisation. What are we, after all, if we do not _strive_? Strive to improve, to build, to grasp what is ours? We would be good as nothing, that's what! So for those of you who embody my words, our ideals, who do not wish to be nothing at all, I have a challenge: complete this project a further two days ahead of schedule, and earn all of you a bonus amounting to two-hundred bolts and a gift card to Grubmuncher, in addition to _not_ getting your pay docked. Now, this may seem like an insurmountable challenge, but I assure you, with the right work ethic and attitude anything is-" the stream said before one of the warbots in the small ship turned it off.

"Hey, I was listening to the speech!" another shouted, turning away from the radar readout.

"Regrettably, so was I," the first responded in a tone suggesting that this wasn't the first time this conversation had occurred.

"Can we just shelve this until after the shift? This job's tedious enough _without_ listening to the two of you bicker every other minute. Besides, it's unprofessional," a third chimed in from the comm desk.

The second one, now with their back against the radar monitoring station, turned their frustration to the ship's communication officer, "After the shift? But by then you'll have conveniently forgotten, like always, and I'm forced to let it go! Not this time. No, this has become a matter of _principle,_ and I won't stand for further-"

"Difficult to call yourself a bot of your principles when you're too busy complaining to notice that literally the only thing you're being paid to keep an eye on has started doing something," the first one interrupted, not without a trace of smugness, promptly shutting them up as they turned around to look at the lidar station and found, to their horror, that where before there had been a pristine field of glowing blue there now sat a single orange dot which gave off a pulse every so often.

Not wishing to acknowledge this misstep, the lidar operator threw themselves head-first into work mode, "Unidentified ship detected! Bearing 160-30!"

"Roger that," the third bot said, "attempting to establish contact." They pressed a few buttons on their console and adjusted a nearby microphone, "Attention unidentified vessel: this is Blargian Patrol Ship number 90124. You have entered Blargian warspace without transmitting valid authorisation codes. Please respond or prepare to be boarded."

 **C**

Clank was, by this point, forced to admit that he was starting to get at least a little peeved with the situation in general and the Lombax's willy-nilly attitude towards ship-building in specific. Did he not realise that all those regulations he ignored were there for a _reason_? The robot didn't know if it should be considered better or worse if he did and just knowingly ignored them instead of doing so through simple ignorance.

These musings, though cathartic, were neither here nor there, however. Reason dictated that one should first get out of a tight spot before throwing blame around, after all. But by the spirits would blame get thrown around once this was over if Clank had anything to say about it. Well, more thrown _at_ someone than around, to be precise.

"There appears to be a Blargian ship in our vicinity on an approach vector. We would normally hail them and identify ourselves, but such a course of action requires a working regulation-mandated comm system, which does not seem to be present on this vessel. Blargian protocol dictates that an unknown, unresponsive ship intruding on their warspace should be boarded if possible, and destroyed if not. Either option would effectively end my mission, as it would be unreasonable to expect there not to be a warrant out for my destruction. I am unsure what exactly would happen to you, but considering your clear co-conspiring with me along with your extreme rarity it wouldn't be unexpected if Chairman Drek would have you turned into a rug serving as an interesting conversation-starter. Therefore, I put forward that we should do our best to avoid this eventuality," Clank said upon noticing that the ship's radar, which he was very thankful was at least _present_ , informed him that one of the warships was drawing closer to them.

"On that, at least, we seem to agree. Any ideas? You know, other than trying to beat the crap out of them if they try anything?" Ratchet replied, eyeing his wrench in a worrying manner. Obviously he didn't intend to _actually_ try to 'beat the crap out of them', right?

"It may be possible to hide my presence and fabricate some plausible reason for you to be travelling alone along this trajectory. If nothing goes wrong and they're convinced, it might just save us," Clank answered, and, just to be sure, added, "I believe this has a far higher likelihood for success than a physical confrontation. Even though the models inside these ships are unlikely to be frontline combat units, they should still be far superior to us in battle."

The Lombax rolled his eyes, "Yeah, yeah, I get the message. I'm not that stupid, despite what your smartness may think. How long until they reach us?"

Relieved that the troublesome fuzzball hadn't decided to be difficult about this, Clank glanced at the readout from the console, "About two minutes, after which we'll have about a minute before they start boarding. Maybe more, if they're not particularly impatient. Where do you think would be best to hide me?"

Ratchet took a moment to look all around him, a thoughtful expression adorning his face. Clank thought it would do him—and the wider universe—quite some good if he looked like that more often, but didn't voice these thoughts. Being needlessly inflammatory wasn't what they needed in this situation, even if it would make him feel slightly better.

This, of course, raised the question of _why_ such pettiness would make Clank feel any better, because logically speaking it shouldn't. Not unless his Emotion Emulation Engine had received some major undocumented upgrades that let it step beyond the scope of mere emulation.

These musings were—rightfully, Clank had to admit—interrupted by the same lombax who had inadvertently started them. "I think the emergency spacesuit storage locker is our best bet. It looks like you should _just_ be able to squeeze in."

The robot turned to look where Ratchet was pointing and, indeed, it did seem that he ought to be able to fit in the small cabinet, albeit with some adjustments to the arrangement of its contents. Not wishing to delay things any further—the Blarg could start forcing their way in at any moment, after all—Clank dutifully made himself comfortable. Of course, in this moment 'comfortable' was a subjective term that meant being markedly less likely to be discovered, investigated, and destroyed than before, and not the physical definition. The way he was currently contorted every which way to fit in the cabinet was most definitely not physically comfortable.

Now that there was nothing more for Clank to do, he allowed himself to note that the fact that Ratchet's ability to appear legitimate was now the main thing keeping the aforementioned fate coming to pass was not conducive to this definition of comfort.

Neither was that observation conducive to the more general, psychological definition, Clank was compelled to add.

Clank decided that the best thing to do right now was to do his best to stop thinking about the situation.

 _ **R**_

This was fine.

Ratchet was not a stranger to dire situations, and had had plenty of practise hiding and managing panic, so he was quite confident that Clank hadn't picked up just how he felt about this one. That was the easy bit.

The hard bit was fooling himself.

As it happened, he had quite a bit of practise on that front as well, for better or for worse, so he wasn't doing a bad job of that either. Not a perfect one, but well enough to allow him to get out of himself for a bit to think up an excuse as to why he was travelling alone in this part of space.

Fortunately, he had already devoted far too many hours of the night doing just that. All that was missing, really, was how he got off the ground without a Robotic Ignition System, something he had _also_ given a great deal of thought.

Man, it was almost as if he were _made_ to play this part.

This turn of events, though certainly fortunate, had the somewhat awkward side effect of Ratchet realising that he had nothing to _do_ in this incredibly tense life-or-death situation. Other than wait, that is.

This, thinking logically, should have been the opposite of a problem, but the Lombax couldn't shake this preconceived notion that people about to be boarded by dangerous warbots should at least _look_ like they were doing something about it, instead of just standing around being hyper-aware that they weren't.

Maybe he should plan for contingencies? That sounded like a smart thing to do. Clank's plan could always go wrong, after all, so, really, he should be prepared in case things went south.

With this in mind he conjured up his wrench using his armband and gave it a few experimental swings. Despite its size it felt a lot lighter than it actually was, which after some mechanical investigation a few years back seemed to be thanks to a number of 'lightening modules'—as Ratchet called them—fitted inside it at key points. At least when he disconnected them from the freakishly advanced power system the whole thing became nearly impossible to wield, and even lifting it became a challenge. He had absolutely no idea how they worked or even what exactly they did, and wasn't about to try taking one of them apart for fear of breaking it. But he did know that they didn't just make the wrench lighter because that thing hit like an explosive battering ram when he put his back into it. That, too, seemed to have something to do with a number of similar modules he fondly dubbed 'fuck-shit-up modules'.

Come to think of it, he could probably do a number on these warbots Clank was so afraid of if he could get a solid hit in, but he quickly dismissed the idea as suicidal because it assumed he could get close before getting blown to furry bits, which probably wasn't happening.

And, as he now suddenly found himself in a more grounded mood than usual, he realised that it probably wouldn't give the best first-impression if he was swinging a potential weapon around when the warbots arrived. To be fair, he could always use the armband to dismiss it at a moment's notice, so there wasn't much risk in holding on to it for now as he doubted they could board and enter their ship fast enough to catch him off-guard, but it was probably wiser not to take the chance. Besides, it was probably best not to annoy Clank any further by tempting fate.

But despite being a good little boy by putting the wrench away it still felt like a short eternity before anything happened, and Ratchet had become so tense that he almost jumped at the sudden automatic twitch of his own ears in response to the soft sound of something contacting the docking port. At least he was pretty sure it was the twitch and not the sound itself, embarrassing as it was, because it seemed as if the sound had only registered in hindsight.

But enough of that. The warbots were now boarding, at long last, and Ratchet now had to compose himself and deal with this whole situation. He knew he had around fifteen seconds before the hatch at the back of his ship opened so he couldn't do more than tidy up a few errant strands of fur and adopt a pose that was hopefully not too suspicious before it would open, which is exactly what he did.

"By the authority of Ultimate Supreme Executive Chairman Alonzo Drek I, Warbot B3122672, will board this vessel to enforce Sovereign Blargian Warspace. If you possess weapons you are obligated to disclose and lower them. Any action deemed aggressive will be met with overwhelming force, so it is advised for your own safety that you be as cooperative as possible. Do you understand?" a robotic voice stated through the docking hatch that had just opened. It seemed Warbot B312etc was choosing to approach cautiously, as it had not yet shown itself, preferring to stay outside for the time being. A tactic obviously designed to reduce risk in case the boarded party decided to be too 'aggressive'. Ratchet felt his fur stand on end as the reality of the situation sunk in further, but he was resolved not to let it get to him.

"I do," Ratchet responded, trying his best to sound confident, before adding, "I don't have any weapons." This wasn't technically a lie, since the Omniwrench wasn't considered a weapon by most people and he certainly didn't have the bolts to buy anything that would.

"Who are aboard this vessel? Is it just you and a robotic ignition unit?" came the immediate and terrifyingly stern answer. Alright, time for the first big lie of the day.

"It's just me. No robotic ignition unit, this ship doesn't need one," Ratchet said, keeping his voice steady. He thought about adding something about it being an old bucket of bolts in explanation, but decided against it. Only lies have details, after all.

"Unusual. This must be a very old model, then, but its appearance backs your story up." Ratchet couldn't help feeling at least a little bit insulted by that, but it served his purposes so he let it slide, "I will now enter. I reiterate that any aggression on your part will be met with overwhelming force, and that Drek Industries will not be held liable for any grievous injury or death resulting from this." Ratchet shifted his stance again for no good reason, trying to force himself to remain calm, composed, and non-suspicious. Things had gone well so far, so if he just refrained from fucking up he should be fine.

The warbot finally revealed itself as it ducked through the docking hatch and scanned the Lombax in front of it critically. Said Lombax, though noting that it was very different from Clank, honestly expected it to be a lot larger than it was. Clearly this one wasn't designed for frontline combat, like Clank said, which made a lot of sense if it was stationed inside a small patrol ship. It still had a very 'edgy' design though, in both a literal sense and Ratchet's opinion, and was very visibly armed with a blaster attached to its right hip. Overall, Ratched considered himself suitably intimidated by it.

"I do not recognise your species. Disclose it," it said in that same mechanically stern voice. Ratchet personally thought that this was none of its goddamn business and very nearly expressed this in a dangerously rude fashion, but realised that that would probably count as 'fucking up' so he didn't. Instead he said, "I'm a Lombax, sir. We're quite rare in Solaris," in his very best good-boy voice, even going so far as to tack on a smile that didn't stretch to his ears. It made him want to retch, but he figured that mild nausea was preferable to being turned into a fancy rug so it was worth it.

It spent a moment processing this fact. "I see. You are a member of a critically endangered species. As such I will need you to come with me. Your ship will be towed and put into safe storage."

It took Ratchet a moment to process this. His expression—and the rest of his body for that matter—frozen, all he could do was blink a couple times in bewilderment before thinking that this was definitely not how this conversation was supposed to go. Soon after, though, the anger started making itself known, but it came as a trickle instead of a flood simply because of how utterly off-guard Ratchet had been taken. In his state he could only utter a stilted "What?"

"It is Drek Industries policy that all exceptionally rare creatures are collected for safekeeping and handed over to the Alonzo Preservation Foundation. Now I will need you to come with me." The robot made to turn back to the docking hatch, but was interrupted.

"And if I don't?" the exceptionally rare creature said, its tone dangerous. The anger, old and familiar, was coming quicker now, and now that he had had a little time to consider he was inclined to agree with it. Clank suggesting sending him to some institute was bad enough, but he had at least backed off instead of treating Ratchet as a mere statistic that had no say in the matter.

"This action is not possible," the warbot replied, "If you resist then you will be made to come with me through forceful means. It is Drek Industries Policy to minimise harm to exceptionally rare creatures, so it would be preferable if you did not attempt this and came peacefully. Will you cooperate?"

Ratchet, now properly pissed off by the turn this conversation had taken, felt the impulse to conjure up his omniwrench right then and there and strike the warbot down, but before he sent the mental command to his armband a better plan fell into his head. It would involve maintaining the good-boy act a little longer, but it was significantly less likely to kill him. "Ugh, fine, I will come with you. Lead the way," he said, hanging his head to add to the act even as he felt his fur stand on end. The first plan had already failed as far as he was concerned, so only the backup remained.

The warbot nodded and turned around fully this time, taking a step towards the docking hatch. Ratchet exhaled the breath he'd been holding and closed his eyes momentarily to clear his head. Anger was not exactly unwelcome for what he was about to do, but the growl he felt coming on might give him away. He summoned his omniwrench in his right hand, and felt its comforting, impossible-feeling weight. The warbot was armed with a blaster on its right hip, which would need to go. Thankfully, due to the fact that the robot faced away from him and was considerably taller than Ratchet, it was pretty much directly in front of him.

He moved his arm up over his head to prepare for the swing and adjusted his footing for stability. The warbot was about to enter the docking hatch so he knew he didn't have much time to spare. He swung down with all his might, intending to either destroy it or, failing that, dislodge it, but the moment he committed he felt a compulsion come over him. It was as if a stranger had taken over his arm, but he still kind of felt in control—as in it seemed he could ignore it if he tried hard enough—so in that sense it was more like a ludicrously powerful gut-feeling.

Whatever this thing that had come over him was, it adjusted the angle of his swing, extended the wrench past the point where it could hit the blaster properly, and drastically decreased the power he put into it. Ratchet was so surprised he didn't even realise what was happening until the omniwrench landed slightly behind the blaster, with the rod being the thing that actually struck it with a weak clang and not the head. But before he could start processing these turn of events, and before the warbot could react, he felt that same compulsion suddenly retract the wrench, and as the head travelled back up the rod it snagged on a protrusion on the top of the blaster. The compulsion then made Ratchet yank the omniwrench back, and the blaster by extension flew out of its holster and at the Lombax, who was at this point supremely confused.

His muddled mental state allowed the compulsion—whatever the hell it was—free reign to continue doing whatever it wanted, which in this case was having Ratchet take a step to the right and expertly grab the blaster, which was flying grip-first directly at him, out of the air with his left hand. He then had barely a moment to think 'I don't know how to use a blaster' before the compulsion adjusted his stance again, aimed the blaster at the warbot's turning head, and blew it to bits before it could get through the second word of "What are-"

Ratchet winced due to the noise and recoil, and had the distinct feeling that he would definitely have fallen flat on his back had he been standing normally. He also noted that he had found pulling the trigger—to his memory it felt exactly as it would have had he done it of his own free will—extremely satisfying, though that might have been the anger's doing. Then he was loudly reminded by the warbot hitting the floor that this should likely not be what he took away from this.

A number of things that he probably _should_ take away from this were suddenly very clear to him. Firstly, he had just disarmed and destroyed a blargian warbot while being boarded, and there were presumably others on the other side of the docking hatch. Secondly, a mysterious thing just took over his body and allowed him to do the first thing, and had disappeared as suddenly as it had come. Thirdly, the warbots in the patrol ship were now likely going to kill him for the first thing, either by storming his ship or detaching from it and blowing it up. Fourthly, if they stormed his ship the second thing might be able to allow him to repeat the first thing, and him demonstrably being capable of the first thing would likely dissuade the other warbots from doing the fourth thing. Fifthly, if they detached and blew his ship up there was probably nothing he could do about it. So to prevent the fifth thing from happening he would have to do the fourth thing in reverse before the fifth thing happened and do the first thing several times using the second thing, which was hopefully still there.

So, in less confusing terms, he would have to storm the blargian patrol ship before the other warbots could respond properly and hope the element of surprise and the blaster, along with the hopeful return of the compulsion, would be enough for him to defeat them.

In a way Ratchet was glad he was extremely pressed for time here, because it meant he couldn't think up reasons why this was a terrible idea before he charged through the hatch.

He had been vaguely aware of voices starting to say things as he had been absorbing what had happened, but he had been far too preoccupied to process what they had been saying. Now, however, he could discern every word as he emerged into the patrol ship.

"-can't just charge in! What if he kills us like he did-" one of the warbots inside it said, before it was interrupted by an armed Lombax appearing in front of it.

Time seemed to slow as Ratchet took in the scene. The patrol ship was actually pretty small, and was composed of just one room like his own ship. It was a great deal fancier, of course, with two stations at the very front—piloting and comms Ratchet guessed—and one against the right wall, which seemed to sport a nice-looking lidar console. The rest of the space was taken up by storage lockers and the docking hatch along with various minor things that he didn't have time to think about. There were two other warbots inside and they were standing directly in front of him, and neither had drawn its weapon. Ratchet figured that that was about to change real fast, though, going by the way they had both turned their full attention to him.

'Well, here goes nothing,' he thought, trying to conjure up the anger and determination from earlier as he pointed the blaster at the left one. The compulsion returned, but now that he was expecting it and quite willing to obey it it felt softer than before, if that made any sense. More like a guiding hand than an imperative force.

Ratchet had tried to assume a decent stance before lifting his weapon, but it was evidently not the right one as he felt the compulsion shift his feet before it pointed the blaster at the warbot's head and it or Ratchet—he genuinely wasn't sure—pulled the trigger. This time he was more ready for the recoil, so it didn't take him off-guard this time. He also noted that it was still hella satisfying.

He felt it nudging him to simply point it at the other warbot and fire again, but he wanted to try something. Instead of cooperating like before he actively tried to take a step towards the robot and ready his omniwrench for a strike. To his satisfaction the compulsion seemed to take the hint and adjusted its suggestions accordingly. It was a very strange feeling to move purposefully to the compulsion's tune, like swimming with a turbulent river's flow in a fog so heavy he could hardly see a metre in front of him, trusting it would not dash him against the rocks. It was exhilarating, but it was impossible to dispel the worry that it could fail him at a critical moment.

But fail him it did not, instead guiding him through a series of three powerful strikes that each crumpled metal and ended with his omniwrench lodged deep inside what used to be the warbot's head. Suddenly Ratchet found himself standing over its remains, panting slightly from the exertion, with time to think for the first time since the compulsion appeared.

He looked around himself to reassure himself that this was definitely real, and even pinched himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

"So that happened," he muttered to himself, more out of a general need to say _something_ about the situationthan for any particular reason. He tried to take a step away from the third warbot before he realised that his wrench wasn't following him. He chuckled slightly at his forgetfulness, and busied himself with dislodging it. Even though it only took a few seconds it felt a lot longer, probably because it gave the decimated remains of his anger an opportunity to fade and the last minute's events time to fully sink in.

He had just destroyed three warbots with ease thanks to a mysterious force that showed up out of nowhere to guide his actions. It wasn't there anymore, he didn't think. He felt pretty normal, at least, aside from the adrenaline rush. Which, all things considered, wasn't the least bit abnormal, both for his life in general and having just been in combat in particular.

Still, he had also felt normal in between the two compulsive episodes, so that didn't necessarily mean anything. Could he summon it again if he tried?

To test his hypothesis, Ratchet looked around for a suitable target. Only the already-busted warbots presented themselves, but they would do just fine. He grasped his omniwrench tightly, and did his best to replicate the stance from earlier as he faced the second warbot's remains. Trying to find the anger from earlier, he readied himself physically and mentally to destroy the figuratively worthless pile of scrap in front of him.

Putting his all into the swing, Ratchet struck its chest savagely, even going so far as to shout as he struck. And though he did quite a bit of damage to the warbot's bodywork he felt no compulsion come over him, not even a whisper of quiet guidance to steer his hand. In addition, compared to earlier, this strike felt sloppy and unfocused, more akin to the product of a child's tantrum than a practised fighter's attack.

So, in other words, Ratchet couldn't simply will it back into existence. Or not right now at least. There were other factors involved. Maybe he wasn't determined or threatened enough? Did it only work in life-or-death situations, or maybe just in combat? Or was it something completely different? It could also be that this was a one-time thing. Really, there was too little information with which to come to a real conclusion.

One thing he did know, however, was that Clank was probably worried sick at this very moment. Or super duper pissed at him for abandoning the plan and getting violent, in which case Ratchet decided he would become super duper pissed right back at him and point out that the last time a robot had suggested that he should be content with being put into a damn zoo it had gotten its head blown off.

With that in mind, Ratchet put away his wrench and newly-acquired blaster into the pocket-dimension-thing inside his armband and made his way back to his ship, wondering if and how he should explain the whole thing to his robotic companion.


	6. Chapter 6

**C**

"I will now enter. I reiterate that any aggression on your part will be met with overwhelming force, and that Drek Industries will not be held liable for any grievous injury or death resulting from this," the warbot said from beyond the docking hatch. So far, so good. Ratchet had yet to make any mistakes, which Clank thought was a small miracle in itself, despite having used the time before the patrol ship docked with them to _practice swinging his damn wrench_ instead of actually preparing his cover story. It was little things like that that made Clank wonder if his companion did in fact possess survival instincts. It would certainly explain a lot if he didn't.

But despite clearly being mentally impaired in the common-sense department, Ratchet was doing pretty well and staying respectful, even going so far as to step back slightly to allow the warbot room to enter the ship. It was, as Clank had expected, a standard naval unit, armed only with a type three blaster. Still far out of Ratchet's league, but not as hopelessly as a battle unit.

"I do not recognise your species. Disclose it." Oh dear. Clank should have predicted this and perhaps warned Ratchet, as if there was one thing he had learned about the lombax was that this was a particularly sore spot for him. That combined with Ratchet's by now well-documented temper did not bode well at all for the success of their ruse.

But, to Clank's immense relief, Ratchet surprised him by exceeding all expectations of self-composure. "I'm a lombax, sir. We're quite rare in Solaris," he said, his tone lighter than he had ever heard it. If Clank didn't know better he would say that Ratchet was cooperating happily, but the complete lack of motion and stiffness of his tail along with his flat ears gave it away that he was likely hating every minute of this.

"I see. You are a member of a critically endangered species. As such I will need you to come with me. Your ship will be towed and put into safe storage." Oh no. Nononono. Crap. Clank had completely forgotten about the rare specimen collection initiative. This couldn't end well, even if Ratchet somehow managed to keep his cool. If Ratchet was taken in and the ship towed it was only a matter of time before Clank would be discovered, and if Ratchet instead decided to do something stupid he'd either be discovered or destroyed with the rest of the ship. Either way his mission would be over. He had to think of something, and fast.

Meanwhile, the lombax on whose shoulders the entire mission and the fate of the galaxy rested seemed completely bewildered, and it wasn't clear whether it was in a bad or worse way. "What?" he asked, sounding as lost as he looked.

"It is Drek Industries policy that all exceptionally rare creatures are collected for safekeeping and handed over to the Alonzo Preservation Foundation. Now I will need you to come with me," came the explanation. This was getting difficult to watch. Couldn't the warbot at least have used a different wording than 'creatures'? It was if they were actively trying to press all of Ratchet's buttons, or at least all the ones Clank had discovered. The robot braced himself for the inevitable explosion, too busy worrying about what was transpiring in front of him to be able to think of anything at all that might save them, let alone quickly.

"And if I don't?" came the answer Clank had been dreading. Or, rather, the _tone_ Clank had been dreading. It wasn't clear enough to properly discern, but he was pretty sure he could hear the beginnings of a growl seeping into the last syllable, and his claws certainly seemed to protrude further than usual.

"This action is not possible," the warbot replied, "If you resist then you will be made to come with me through forceful means. It is Drek Industries Policy to minimise harm to exceptionally rare creatures, so it would be preferable if you did not attempt this and came peacefully. Will you cooperate?" If Clank had breath to hold, he would have. Though he felt like a broken record for thinking so, he once again noted that there was no way this was going to end well.

For a moment it seemed like Ratchet was going to do something drastic right then and there, but then he suddenly dipped his head down and said, "ugh, fine, I will come with you. Lead the way." There was a part of Clank that honestly thought that Ratchet might be coming quietly here, but it was small and quickly shut down by all the other parts that noticed that his body language was _far_ from docile. No, he had something else planned. _Well,_ Clank thought, _I had a good run._

The warbot, clearly not as used to reading lombaxes as Clank was, took Ratchet for his word and turned around. This proved to be a mistake on their part, as soon after said lombax had summoned his wrench with fairly obvious intent. Yep, Ratchet's composure could only, as Clank had suspected, be stretched so far before it broke.

Clank being right did not solve this conundrum, however. Ratchet was going to get subdued and the ship towed, and he was going to have to find a way to not be discovered before he found a way to escape. Withdrawing deeper into the closet and going to a low-power state might just work if the warbots weren't too diligent, and then Clank might be able to slip out of the ship while no one is looking. He would have to rearrange the closet's contents to do this, however, running the risk of alerting them. So he would have to do so while they're too busy with Ratchet to notice, which put an uncertain time limit on the operation. As such he would be wise to begin as soon as possible.

These thoughts raced through Clank's head in mere milliseconds, which allowed him to start acting before his furred companion struck. He would have to wait until the attack connected before moving things around, of course, but he could assess the contents of the closet quite quietly by simply turning his head roughly 180 degrees, and as it would take precious time to compute the optimal configuration it would be a mistake not to do so immediately.

This is why Clank stopped watching Ratchet and the warbot about half a second before he heard the wrench's impact. The sound was a great deal weaker than he had expected, he thought as he quickly scanned the closet, concluding that Ratchet was probably not as strong as he should be for his size and age. Likely due to some nutritional deficiency in the non-lombax-optimised diet he had no doubt been forced to suffer through. Yet another reason why he should be handed over to people who actually knew how to care for him properly, no matter how demeaning he found the prospect. In the meantime, if the both of them somehow miraculously make it through this, Clank would be sure to ensure that the food he consumed while they were travelling together would be properly balanced for his special needs.

And then he heard the sickening sound of a blaster firing. He did his best not to let the sudden surge in his emotion emulation engine interrupt his work, but it did, which was both illogical and extremely inconvenient. If Ratchet had been hit, which was almost certainly the case, then Clank didn't have long before he ceased being a suitable distraction.

' _Ceased being a suitable distraction',_ Clank couldn't help thinking, _why does phrasing it like that make me feel… sick?_

But enough of unrelated ruminations. Clank, though not done finding the optimal configuration for hiding inside the closet, had found one that was wouldn't take long to put into action and was good enough. And since he was very much running out of time, 'good enough' would have to do.

So he rapidly rearranged himself, the spacesuit, and the great number of other things inside the _spacesuit_ storage locker that had absolutely nothing to do with spacesuits in such a manner that he was completely covered, all the while hoping that he hadn't been heard. Though the noise this generated probably didn't penetrate too much through the partly-transparent door and into the wider ship, it was fairly substantial to Clank's sensors and it was quite possible that he had been noticed over whatever the other loud sound had been. If he didn't know better he would have said that it sounded like the warbot had fallen over somehow, but with no visual confirmation and the aural interference from Clank's own actions it could have been almost anything, so it almost certainly wasn't that. Perhaps the warbot was handling Ratchet overly roughly? Clank didn't dare speculate. Or was it that he didn't _want_ to speculate?

Now he could only power down and wait. It would be ill-advised to do so completely, of course, as he still wanted to hear what was going on, so he left everything needed to receive and process audio on.

"-has gone down. We must subdue the aggressor and secure the area. I will take point, you will provide covering-" one of the warbots inside the patrol ship said, before being hastily interrupted by another, "Are you crazy‽ We can't just charge in! What if he kills us like he did-" before something caused that one to shut up as well.

What was going on? Was Ratchet putting up a greater fight than Clank had expected? It sounded like he had managed to take the lead warbot down, but how? It sounded too good to be true, so there must be some alternate explanation. But no matter where Clank's multiple concurrent trains of thought went, they always ended up at the same conclusion.

But even if Ratchet had, somehow, managed to subdue one of them, there was no way he could take down two at once. No, despite this development, Clank's plan hadn't changed. He would still have to accept that this brief partnership was at an end and hope he'd find a way to escape undetected.

It was then he heard a blaster fire again followed by three powerful metallic collisions. This could mean a number of things, as far as Clank could tell, but given how pointless his speculation had been thus far he decided to abstain for now. Besides, it would no doubt soon become apparent that Ratchet had been subdued or worse so undue hope would only cause disappointment.

"So that happened," someone said from beyond the docking port. It was difficult to tell for sure as it had been said quietly, but Clank thought it must have been Ratchet's voice. Moreover, there was a conspicuous lack of robotic voices to accompany his voice. Could it be that his furred companion had prevailed?

Then there came the sound of another impact, this one weaker than the others. If Ratchet had defeated them, why would he do… whatever this was? And if _he_ had been the one defeated, why had he said what he said just now, and how did that noise factor into things? At this point Clank decided, for real this time, to give up. Whatever explanation there was for these noises, it would have to become apparent in time.

And so he waited, keeping his metaphorical ears open for any new information. Soon enough he could hear a series of soft thuds, almost imperceptibly quiet, that were growing louder or, more likely, closer. Footsteps? Ratchet's footsteps?

Suddenly, the door to the spacesuit closet was opened, "Alright, it's all clear Clan- uh, where did you go?"

Clank briefly considered the possibility that Ratchet was being coerced into finding him and that he should, as such, not reveal his location, but soon enough concluded that if that was the case then he'd find Clank fairly quickly irrespective of what the small robot did. As such he wasn't really gaining anything by staying hidden, and correspondingly didn't lose anything by revealing himself. Instead he'd just have to hope that his paranoia was unfounded.

Shifting the spacesuit strewn over his body revealed the face of the lombax he'd come to know and tolerate. "Ah, there you are! Good thinking hiding behind the suit, even if it didn't exactly turn out to be necessary," Ratchet said with an awkward smile, turning back to reveal the remains of a warbot, its head blow to pieces.

"I'm glad it wasn't needed," Clank replied, "I will admit I thought we were done for for a moment there, as I had no idea you were such a capable fighter." A flicker of… something flashed across Ratchet's face, and though Clank had improved greatly over the last hours in reading the lombax there was a great deal that still remained opaque, so he had no idea what it meant. It probably wasn't all that important.

"Yeah I, uh, got into a lot of scraps back on Veldin. Had to learn to defend myself. Anyways, I guess we have a working ship now, so that's something," Ratchet said, scratching the back of his ears as he did so. Clank had the feeling that he wasn't quite telling the whole story, but decided to keep his doubts to himself. He didn't have any more plausible alternate theories as to how Ratchet could defeat those warbots anyhow, so the 'had to learn to defend myself' story would have to remain for the time being. Also, they had more important things to worry about.

"Indeed we do, but I wonder if it would be wise to take it. The ship should be equipped with tracking equipment which would make it child's play for Drek's forces to find and catch up with us far before we reach Kerwan. If this were not the case, however, I would be lying if I did not say it was a tempting option. Flying a safe, fully operational ship would be a nice change of pace," Clank replied, taking care to put extra emphasis on the last sentence. Ratchet grimaced, waving his hands dismissively.

"Yeah yeah, I get it already, you have no appreciation for the art of low-cost ship building. That said, you have a good point about the patrol ship. Do you know where the tracking equipment is and how it works? I think I might be able to disable it," the lombax said, summoning his wrench in apparent anticipation.

As a matter of fact, Clank did know. Perhaps the fact that Ratchet was well-versed in 'the art of low-cost ship building' would pay off, after all…

 _ **R**_

Things were looking up, as far as Ratchet was concerned. It had looked grim for a minute there, sure, but a mysterious latent ability had dealt with the warbot problem in quick order and some quick thinking had allowed him to hide said ability from his robotic companion, who would probably have dragged Ratchet to the nearest research institute at the first opportunity had he known. Yeah, though he was starting to warm up to Clank a little there were some things they'd probably never see eye-to-imaging-sensor on, and this was one of them.

Ratchet was currently putting the finishing touches on dealing with the ship problem, which was connecting the navigation system from Ratchet's ship to the patrol ship and vice-versa. Turns out the tracking equipment Clank had spoken of was integrated into the navigation system and couldn't be disabled if you wanted to get anywhere without accidentally jumping into a star. It also pinged the central Blargian command computer with its location every five minutes, so just ripping the thing out could lead to suspicion as one of the ships suddenly became silent. The solution, therefore, was simply swapping the Blargian unit with the one Ratchet had scavenged for his own ship. Fortunately, thanks to galactic standardisation, the procedure was fairly simple.

The catch, however, aside from having to listen to Clank's pointed remarks about how fortunate it was for them that the manufacturers had actually followed standards and regulations unlike _some,_ was that they only had around five minutes to disconnect and reconnect the Blargian system and make sure it was up-and-running, which had been more than a little tense. Still, with Clank's help it had been manageable, and now Ratchet could relax as he mounted his own system into the barely-big-enough slot in the patrol ship.

"Alright, try booting it up. Everything should be connected, more or less," Ratchet said, looking at his handiwork. It wasn't the most elegant job he'd ever done, as the system stuck out of the console a good five centimetres, but it would work.

"Activating system. Well, it's posting successfully, but I don't think I have ever seen as many compatibility warnings before. Oh wait, I have." Clank replied, in the tone that Ratchet had been forced to grow used to the past few minutes, and made him wonder if there was a dial somewhere inside the robot with which his snideness might be turned down. Perhaps he could take a look while subjecting the robot to 'maintenance'.

"Great! Go plot a course for us while I move some stuff over, will ya? I shouldn't take too long," the lombax said, choosing to ignore Clank's remarks and ducking through the docking port before Clank could protest. There wasn't a reason Ratchet could think of why he _would_ , but if there was one thing that had been learned over the past day it was that Clank could find fault in the smallest thing, so it was best not to risk it.

This didn't mean Ratchet had been lying about this not taking a long time, of course. Due to his single mindedness when it came to getting off Veldin and general lack of disposable income he didn't exactly have a lot of personal possessions. There were his clothes, his tools which he carried in the armband, a few mementos from the orphanage, some hygiene products, his Omniwrench, a number of assorted knick-knacks, and the note that had been with him when he was left at the orphanage. He never failed to feel a little sad when he thought of it, and sometimes found himself angry, but this time he also felt a tinge of excitement when he realised that he might be able to find someone who could translate it in Metropolis. Wasn't that a thought.

His personal possessions gathered in a couple bags, and with a last look over the labour of love that had brought him this far, Ratchet made his way through the hatch, trying his best not to get too sentimental over the loss of his ship. He had more important things to worry about.

"Ah, you're back. I've finished plotting a route to Kerwan, and accounting for the time it'll take to move out of the anti-warp field the Blarg raised over the system, it should take us about twenty hours to reach it. It would seem that, thanks to this ship being equipped with a slightly faster drive, we actually gained a few hours through this ordeal. Barring any other unexpected encounters, that is. Shall I undock and resume our journey?" Clank asked over his shoulder, already being strapped in one of the seats at the front.

As Ratchet joined him, he replied, "Yeah, go on ahead. The sooner we leave, the better. It's just a matter of time before we get into more trouble if we stay here. I had no idea the Blarg would be this blatant, though. I mean I had heard something about them on the news, but seeing them overrun an entire system like this…"

"Indeed," Clank said, nodding, "we can only hope someone helps them before the Blarg have irreparably destroyed their biosphere."

"You mean like some badass hero who swoops in from nowhere to save them at the last minute, guns blazing? Hah, fat chance. When he's done with that he can go back in time and give me a ride off Veldin five years ago. No, what they need is the galactic rangers, so if you want to help them you should push that button already. I've seen enough of this system," Ratchet replied, his voice incredulous.

"For once we agree," Clank said with finality, before pressing the button.


End file.
